


You Taught Me How to Hurt

by Error401



Series: In and Out [11]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Daryl takes a shower, Gen, Glenn takes a nap, M/M, Mild Language, Not a lot happens but that's okay isn't it?, no zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Error401/pseuds/Error401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keys jingled outside, and Glenn looked up to see Daryl breathing slightly harder than normal, two plastic bags hanging from one hand. “I got sandwiches and beer,” he said, swinging the bags a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Taught Me How to Hurt

“My legs aren’t broken,” Glenn said amusedly as Daryl hovered next to him on the stairs as he started up them towards his apartment. “You don’t have to look so serious.”

“You got a fuckin’ horn growing out of your forehead,” Daryl grunted, eyes flicking towards the butterfly bandage that did nothing to conceal the huge bump behind it. “Shut up and let me make sure you won’t die.”

Glenn held up his hands in surrender and started the climb to the third floor. It didn’t even wind him, but Daryl was still watching like a hawk, like he was going to swoon at any moment. Really, compared to the first time, this was a walk in the park. He didn’t have broken ribs or fingers to deal with, just a cracked skull, scrapes, and bruises. Yeah, it hurt when he pulled the wrong patch of skin or brushed against something too hard, but it definitely wasn’t incapacitating. 

Daryl already had Glenn’s keys in hand and unlocked the door for him, taking a cursory look inside before moving to allow Glenn to enter. “Sit,” Daryl said, pointing to the couch.

“Seriously, Daryl,” Glenn said, “I’m—“

Daryl rolled his eyes and slashed his hand through the air. “You say ‘fine,’ again, I’m gonna’ have to give you something to complain about.”

Glenn sighed and shook his head, shuffling over to the couch and sitting, balancing on the edge with his scabbed elbows resting on his knees. He was happily medicated for the pain in his head, and until the pills wore off, he probably wouldn’t be in a protesting mood. Pliancy seemed to be what Daryl wanted, anyway. He wouldn’t mind those arms plying him.

“Hungry?” Daryl asked, sitting down on the edge of the table in front of him. 

Glenn shook his head, simultaneously trying to banish decidedly inappropriate thoughts.

Daryl gave him a look.

“I guess I could eat,” Glenn shrugged, his tongue feeling thick and heavy. He’d been having way too may thoughts in that vein lately, and it didn’t help that Daryl felt the need to rescue him all the time.

Daryl nodded and stood, stomping over the refrigerator and yanking the door open, causing a few of the weaker magnets to fall off and onto the linoleum. “The fuck is this?” he called.

“I haven’t exactly had time to go shopping,” Glenn pointed out, reaching down to loosen the laces of his sneakers with clumsy fingers. He found himself pausing to stare at the purple rings encircling his wrists, but shook his head, determined to ignore them.

“I’ll be back,” Daryl said as he passed the couch. “Don’t you do nothin’.” He patted his back jean pocket as if to reassure himself that his wallet was still there and slammed the door behind him, locking it with what must have been Glenn’s keys. 

Glenn rolled his eyes and smiled after him as he left, but soon frowned again. He knew why Daryl was being so motherly, and he didn’t like it at all. Daryl thought the whole thing with Shane was his fault, that Shane would never have touched Glenn if he didn’t think that it would make Daryl angry. He was right to some extent, but Glenn had seen firsthand what a psycho the guy was, and there was nothing Daryl could or could not have done once Shane had set Glenn in his sights. 

He thought a moment before reaching into his pocket, feeling around. Nothing. But where was…

It hit him then that his cell phone had been knocked out of his hand last night, and now he had no way of getting in contact with anybody. Shane had probably purposefully gone after him when he was speaking with Daryl to make sure Daryl heard everything on the other line. God, what if Shane had his phone? He could text anyone pretending to be Glenn, get all of Glenn’s messages. Glenn couldn’t even cancel anything, because the cell phone was pre-paid. 

He groaned, resting the non-injured side of his forehead in his hand. His life really sucked. 

He sat up suddenly as an idea came to him, but he knew Daryl wouldn’t be happy about it. But it wasn’t like he had a plethora of options to choose from. He nodded. If he still thought it was a good idea when the medication wore off, then he would do it. 

They’d spent the night in the emergency room, with Daryl growling at all the staff until a doctor was free to help them. There’d been a major traffic accident, though, so their wait was guaranteed to be a long one. Daryl poked and yelled at Glenn the whole time, just in case he did have a concussion, making sure that he wouldn’t fall asleep.

It turned out there was no concussion, only a bump, but Glenn was a little too out of it with pain and drowsiness to understand, so he left most of the listening to Daryl. He was just glad he didn’t need stitches, because that would no doubt add a few zeroes to yet another bill he was now responsible for.

Glenn felt like such a burden. He knew Daryl would have nothing to do with him if it weren’t for that random act of chance that brought them together the first time. And now Daryl had to worry about him, because Glenn really did have the worst luck in the world. He didn’t want to be the cause of anyone else’s worry. 

Keys jingled outside, and Glenn looked up to see Daryl breathing slightly harder than normal, two plastic bags hanging from one hand. “I got sandwiches and beer,” he said, swinging the bags a little.

Glenn wasn’t sure mixing beer and pain meds was the greatest idea in the world, but he shrugged, smiling. Daryl dropped the bags onto the table and sat an arm’s length apart from Glenn, pulling a can out of one bag and popping the tab, drinking deeply. 

“Hey Daryl?” Glenn said hesitantly. “Umm, my phone…I must have lost it last night. So, if you get any…messages…they’re not from me.” He thought about not saying anything, but he couldn’t risk Daryl being in danger like that, and besides, he was a horrible liar. He’d been able to get away with it before only because he could say someone attacked him without having to say who. If Daryl had asked who, he would have been in real trouble. He was dumbfounded that Daryl had even believed him before when he asked if Shane was still bothering him, and Glenn had said no. Glenn couldn’t lie his way out of a wet paper bag.

“You think he has it,” Daryl said, can crumpling slightly with the force of his grip. 

“I don’t know that,” Glenn said quietly. “But…”

“Fucking…” Daryl grumbled, slamming the can down onto the table, some beer sloshing over the metal rim. “How’n the hell is it okay for him to be out there on the streets and me to be the bad guy? What kinda’ fucked up world we livin’ in?”

Glenn sighed, glancing at the bags, but had to bite down on his lip as his stomach lurched in protest at the idea of eating. “I think I’m gonna’ get some sleep,” Glenn said, glancing at the time on his VCR. “I have to go work in…three hours,” he moaned, rubbing at his neck.

“You’re kiddin’, right?” Daryl asked, looking at him like he was the dumbest person on earth. 

“No…?” Glenn said. “I have a shift tonight, so—“

“You just got beat to hell ten hours ago. Again. In the parking lot of the place you work. The pig knows you work there. Ain’t no way you can just—“

“Daryl, I have to,” Glenn said, standing up. “I can’t quit until I find another job, because you really have no idea how much I need the money, and I’m not going back to—“ he cut himself off, sealing his lips shut. He couldn’t believe he’d almost said that out loud. “Anyway, I have to work, and I’m really tired. You can stay and finish eating, if you want, but I will seriously pass out if I can’t lay down a minute.”

Glenn left before Daryl could launch another protest, slipping into his small room and closing the door softly behind him. He climbed into bed without pulling back the covers, lying on top of them and letting his head fall onto his pillow. He reached over to his alarm clock and blearily set an alarm. He was out in less than thirty seconds.

When his alarm sounded two hours later, he sat up ramrod straight in bed, his hand soon after flying to his forehead, which had begun to throb like it had its own separate heart. He groaned and pushed himself to the edge of the mattress, stumbling and blinking blearily as the blood rushed from his head. He ran a hand through his hair and stood still until everything evened itself out, padding to the door and exiting his room, making his way to the bathroom. 

Still blinking sleep from his eyes, he swung the door open and froze with his hand on the doorknob. 

Because Daryl was there. In a towel. Daryl in nothing but a towel. He felt his cheeks burning, but for some reason he couldn’t look away, like his eyes were glued to the muscular arms and firm chest and tan skin in front of him. And the scars. The scars were…

“The fuck are you looking at?” Daryl barked, using his hands to try and cover the two largest, one at his hip and one crossing over his right shoulder, but the ropy flesh still stuck out in sharp contrast to the rest of him. They were everywhere. 

Glenn flinched away, slamming the door shut again. “I’m sorry!” he called through the wood. “I didn’t know…” What? That Daryl was still there, or that someone had… He heard rustling and cursing inside as Daryl redressed. 

The door was opened, and a cloud of humid air hit Glenn in the face as Daryl stood looking at him stoically. “I’m going with you,” Daryl said.

“Huh?” He didn't know what to say. What could one say to scars like that?

“To work, dumbass,” Daryl rolled his eyes, brushing past, water droplets winding their way from the tips of his hair into the collar of his shirt. 

Glenn nodded dumbly. He guessed they weren’t talking about it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dragging this out too much, aren't I? Do you mind?


End file.
